


Revolutionary School

by Reading_and_Writing



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Broken Heart, Coming Out, Family, Female Friendship, Fluff, Gay, Gen, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Revolution, Riots, Teacher Enjolras, Unplanned Pregnancy, no descriptions, nothing grafic, reference to abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-10-19 09:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17598686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reading_and_Writing/pseuds/Reading_and_Writing
Summary: Enjolras, fresh out of university, is the newest member of the teaching staff at Lycée Robespierre in Paris. During the school year, he will have to deal with frightening Vice Headmaster Javert, teen drama brought in by his students and a newly discovered awareness of his sexuality.From the story. "The man could hardy be human. What kind of human being is beautiful like him? But, most of all, what kind of attractive 24-years-old can stand in front of 28 hormonal adolescents and speak about justice and freedom and equality the same way any other teacher would speak about the weather and make them keep still and silent - all of them, including Courfeyrac?"





	1. Out of school, back to school

**Author's Note:**

> So, first chapter! the whole story is based on true facts, things I have personally been through or that I have seen happening either as a student or later as a teacher. The work is written in English, which is not my native language, so feel free to mark any mistake you find, that will help me improve. There are several things written in French, but it's very basic stuff that everyone can understand.

Out of school, back to school

Enjolras had just finished tying his dark blue tie on his perfectly ironed shirt. He was eager to get started with his new job and he had decided that he wanted to look at his best for the first meeting with his new colleagues. He was actually up way before his alarm went off that morning and he was now fighting a lost battle against his blond and annoyingly curly hair.

He eventually decided that he could not spend half an hour every morning to adjust his hair, so his colleagues could as well see him with that mess on his head starting from day one. He left the house 45 minutes before nine, even if the school was only ten minutes away.

When he got in front of the building it was 8.30, meaning he was half an hour early. He decided to grab a quick coffee to go before actually entering the building. At 8.50 he took a deep breath in and then out before crossing the open gate. The hallway was empty and unbelievably quiet, probably only because the students were not there yet. After wandering in the corridors for a couple of minutes, he accidentally bumped in one of the school's janitors, who looked at him possibly wondering if he was a student a little too grown up or a very young teacher.

"Can I help you?" the man asked kindly.  
Enjolras smiled lightly. "Actually, yes. I am Monsieur Enjolras, the new teacher. I was looking for the teachers' room, but apparently, I am unable to find it".  
The man smiled back and gave him an understanding glance. "Of course, it is not exactly easy to find! You have to go to the end of the corridor on your right, the last door on the left will lead you to a shorter corridor and you will see a door at the very end: that is the teachers' room". Enjolras listened carefully, trying not to forget what the man was telling him. He nodded and thanked the janitor.

When he finally managed to find the teacher's room it was exactly nine, meaning he was perfectly on time. He knocked on the door and, not receiving any answer, he pushed it open. The room was big and crowded: a huge wooden table with at least 40 chairs around it was positioned in the middle of the room, while dozens of cabinets were leaning against the walls. They reminded him of the student's cabinets, safe they were bigger and looked like they had not seen as many battles as the students' ones. In the room, about 30 teachers were already taking possession of their cabinets while chatting with each other.

The first one to spot him was a nicely dressed woman with short dark her. She headed towards him and reached out to the new face.  
"Good morning! I am Fantine Valjean, the school counsellor! And you must be the newest member of our teaching staff, welcome!".  
Enjolras reached out too. "Enjolras, modern studies. It is a pleasure to meet you, madame".  
Fantine looked at him with a mixture of amusement and pity. "Oh, dear, too many formalities! Please, just call me Fantine!". Enjolras smiled back and felt very relieved to find someone nice and welcoming on his first day.  
"Here, let me show you your cabinet and where everything is. Here, I believe this one is yours..." she said pointing the third cabinet from the right, on the wall just opposite the door.  
"Here is the printer, someone from the administration department will give you your card, you have 500 copies per year... Use them wisely!". Enjolras kept smiling, but he could clearly sense the polemical tone in his colleague's voice.  
"And here is the coffee machine, but I'd advice you to bring your own coffee from home if you want to live". As she kept showing him around, he was also introduced to some of the other teachers. Mr Grenouille, the Biology teacher, was the first one to give him a bad impression: he was tall and thin and his handshake was lumpy, while his stare made Enjolras think to a man that is looking down to some horrifying insect. “There we go, another young and idealistic teacher that won’t last a semester in this school” he grumbled before turning his back and approaching another colleague. Fantine gave him a look which Enjolras interpreted as a “don’t mind him”.

A good 30 minutes later he was quietly chatting with Fantine and a terrifying Math teacher when the room went suddenly quiet. He turned in alarm, trying to understand the cause of the unexpected silence, just to see a very intimidating figure standing in the doorway. For a moment Enjolras though of a General from the Army, just to find out, seconds later, that the man that was now standing in the middle of the room was the vice headmaster.  
Fantine smiled at him an encouraging smile and headed towards the man. "Monsieur Javert, nice to see you! Did you have a good holiday?".  
"Nothing special, Madame" the man replied coldly.  
"May I introduce you the newest member of our staff, Monsieur Enjolras". Enjolras reached out without smiling and vigorously shook his hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir.".  
"Ah. Excellent. I've heard great things about you. Impressive curriculum. You are more than welcome here, Monsieur Enjolras". For some reason, Enjolras wasn't feeling very welcome at that moment and could sense a fair amount of hostility from his colleague.  
"Well, thank you, Monsieur" Enjolras replied, trying to hide the distaste toward the vice headmaster that was rapidly growing in his chest.  
"I believe you have not met the Headmaster. I shell escort you to his office". Javert sounded colder and colder at each word, but Enjolrast tried to ignore it and just nodded one more time.  
When Monsieur Javert started walking out the door Fantine smiled again at him and shook her head almost imperceptibly. "I will show you the teachers' restroom on our way there, but you'll need to bring your own toilet paper...". She said it with a smile, but she was clearly unable to hide her irritation for the absence of such an indispensable tool. "...and do not expect any hand towel either".

After a short walk through a couple of corridors, Enjolras had the sensation to be inside a labyrinth and was quite relieved when he finally saw the well-marked headmaster's office.  
"Come in, please," said a voice on the other side of the door just as soon as Javert knocked. The trio entered a well-furnished office, with a beautiful oak desk and a metal plate displaying the headmaster's name on it. The man that Enjolras supposed was the headmaster reached out for him with a smile, showing some true interest in the answer when he asked how was Enjolras doing. He somehow instilled a reverential fear in Enjolras, but something completely different from the hostility he could perceive from Javert.  
"I am doing very good, Monsieur, thank you. Madame Valjean has already shown me my cabinet and some other things around" said Enjolras while glancing at Fantine.  
"Ah, yes, I see. My wife has already done her best to make you feel at ease, didn't she?". At Enjolras' confused look Fantine answered with some amusement and a laugh: "I hadn't told him you are my husband, Monsieur le directeur".  
Monsieur Valjean smiled at his wife and then waved at Enjolras for him to take a seat. Enjolras executed and positioned himself on the chair, keeping his back straight.

Monsieur Valjean explained to him the basic disciplinary regulation of the school, the policy about delays and absences, the prohibition for both students and teachers to smoke within the school (back yard included) and few other ground rules to be followed. Enjolras nodded at each one of the topics touched to signal he had understood and assured the headmaster he would follow to the letter the rules and read in full the 40 pages of rules that were displayed on the school's website.  
“The meeting for the fourth-grade teachers is starting in five minutes, so if you follow me I will officially introduce you to your colleagues”. Enjolras stood and followed Valjean and Javert, leaving behind Fantine.

“Bonjour and welcome back everyone!” said Valjean entering the classroom C12, followed by Javert and Enjolras. The entire group of teacher replied with a polite bonjour that showed not even half of the enthusiasm displayed by the headmaster.  
“It's my pleasure to introduce you the newest member of our staff, Monsieur Enjolras, who will be teaching social and political sciences” announced Valjean. Beside him, Enjolras briefly introduced himself speaking with a clear and firm voice.  
“Monsieur Enjolras is fresh out of University and at his first teaching experience, so I am confident you will all be willing to help him to settle in”.  
“You can count on us!” piped out a smartly dressed woman that, Enjolras thought, should have been already enjoying her retirement. “It was about time that they put in some young faces, no wonder the students complain that we are all mummies!” she continued, causing most of her colleagues to smile.  
“Madame Dubois teaches French literature and History and is the most experienced member of our staff, it will be good for you to learn from her” explained the headmaster to Enjolras, who promptly replied “I will make the most of her advice” and smiled back to both Valjean and the newly met Madame Dubois.  
“Mme. Bernard, Mathematics; M. Durand, Physics, M. Millet, Chemistry, M. Grenouille, Biology, Mme Lambert, Latin, M. Guerin, Philosophy, Mme Le Roux, History of Art, M. Leblanc, P.E.” continued Valjean pointing at the teachers sitting at the table, who replied with a nod or a small wave. “And then we have our ‘foreign teachers’ for the languages because we want students to learn from native speakers, although they all speak perfect French: Mme Williams, English, Mme. Sanchez, Spanish and M. Berger, German”. Enjolras smiled while mentally taking note of not swearing in English the way he usually did when I really could not help it because his colleagues were very likely to understand him. “And you already know Monsieur Javert, Law and Head Teacher” concluded Valjean nodding at his vice, who once again offered his hand for a shake.

Valjean left after a couple more minutes, leaving Javert in charge.  
“As you all know, today’s meeting is just for the formalities” started Javert, going directly to the point. “I suppose you all have planned your teaching activities with the related number of hours, tests, number of marks you want to give during the year and your personal marking scale, with your criteria, in accordance with what was decided by the teachers' council”. It seemed to Enjolras that he was repeating something he had learned by heart, and, on second thought, it must have been the case, indeed.  
“We all have, Javert. It is the same song every single year” replied Madame Dubois, confirming Enjolras’ suspect.  
“Have you prepared all this, Monsieur Enjolras?” asked Javert looking directly at Enjolras.  
“I have, with the exception of the marking criteria” he promptly answered.  
“Don't worry, it is just 'copy and paste' of what is written on the School's rule book” explained Madame Dubois, making her colleagues smile once again.  
“I must agree with Madame Dubois” commented bitterly Javert. “In theory, each teacher should elaborate his own, but the school's general parameters are so specific that there is little space for personal approach”.  
“Copy and paste will do, then?” Asked Enjolras, more to Madame Dubois than to the Vice Headmaster. He received a nod from the French Teacher and a loud “It will” from Javert.  
“Very well,” said the Head Teacher. “We will have a meeting in less than a month to discuss the students, but since Monsieur Enjolras is new we could just give him some quick idea of what he will find on Monday”. Enjolras was already starting to have a better feeling about his direct superior, although he was still far from looking friendly.  
Monsieur Guerin was the first to speak. “The class is an excellent one, except for two or three students, but it is overpopulated. We have 28 students and it is way too much: no time to do oral tests, no possibility to help the students who struggle the most, too many essays to correct” he stated matter-of-factly. “I agree with Monsieur Guerin, too many students. But we are lucky it's a good class” added Monsieur Durand. Enjolras could do nothing but agree with his colleagues, 28 students in a class were way too much.

“The Best student is by far Adrien Combeferre. If I recall correctly last year he had all 20s, except for PE. He is diligent and always happy to help fellow students” exclaimed Madame Dubois, supported in her opinion by a few other teachers. “The best student in Math is Courfeyrac, he has real talent,” the terrifying Madame Bernard said instead. There was a bit of discussion about this Courfeyrac, that had, according to most of the teachers, the ability to make everyone talk. “He would make an empty desk talk!” said Madame Sanchez, providing some absolutely unintended comic relief. Surely a Spanish idiom thought Enjolras. A few other good students were mentioned, but not having a face to connect with the name did not really help Enjolras to retain their names.  
“There are several students who excel in one or more subjects” summed it up Javert. “Mademoiselle Thenardier is a fairly good student too, all considered”. At the confused look on Enjolras’ face, Madame Dubois took it upon her to explain. “Eponine... Mademoiselle Thenardier's parents are in and out of jail and when they are in she has to care for two younger siblings, but she is very determined and diligent”. Enjolras nodded in understanding but did not comment further.  
“We also have a new student joining the class this year. Monsieur... Feuilly, Nicolas Feuilly” continued Javert looking down at the class register.  
“What do we know about him?” asked the Math Teacher.  
Javert quickly found his file and read out of it. “He dropped off school two years ago, when he turned 18. He was in foster care, I believe. He left school to work and now has decided to resume, so he should be 2 years older than his classmates”.  
“He was my student in Junior Year, how could I forget?” added Madame Dubois banging a hand on her forehead, “he was good but a little shy and isolated from the rest of the class”.  
“Well, it is praiseworthy that he has decided to further his education. I expect that you will consider his position of student and worker when marking him”. This last affirmation from Javert made Enjolras truly appreciate the man for the first time since they met earlier that morning.

“There are also terrible students, I would like to remind. Shall we talk about Grantaire and Bahorel?” suddenly teased the unpleasant Monsieur Grenouille whom Enjolras had met in the Teachers’ room.  
“It is undeniable that they are problematic students” replied Javert, who clearly disapproved the use of the word ‘terrible’.  
“Come on, Javert, they are nothing less than criminals” teased again Monsieur Grenouille.  
“Criminals? Maybe it is a little strong, don't you think? They are students, after all,” intervened Enjolras, not caring a bit to disagree with a more experienced teacher.  
“I agree with Monsieur Enjolras. They are no criminals. They just need a bit of tolerance” added Madame Dubois looking at Monsieur Grenouille like she was about to school him.  
“Criminal is certainly a term that does not suit our students, but they do have serious behavioural problems. Grantaire, if he bothers showing up, is either hungover or drunk, interrupts the lessons with cynic comments and shows no respect for authority. Bahorel, on the other hand, has problems controlling his anger, is often involved in fistfights in and out the school and has been arrested for assault to a public officer; the only good side is that he usually uses his force to protect other people rather than to intentionally hurt them”. Enjolras raised an eyebrow but did not comment.  
“You are one of those guys who think that everyone can be good, are you not, Enjolras?” teased again Grenouille, talking directly to Enjolras and ignoring the warning stares coming from Madame Dubois.  
“I do think good can be found in everyone” replied Enjolras as calmly as he could manage, “we only need to bring it out” he concluded with a defying look at Grenouille.  
“I think we can end this here, I have matters to attend. Feel free to keep chatting, but the meeting is officially closed” interrupted Javert sending a more than eloquent look to all the teaching staff, that had meanwhile started to animatedly discuss the so-called ‘problematic students’.  
At the permission to break the lines most of the teacher left at once, reminding to Enjolras how quickly he was able to get out of Math class when the bell rang during his days in High School.

“So, Monsieur Enjolras”, said Madame Dubois approaching him in the corridor “how is the impression on the first day?”  
“Good, I have to say” replied Enjolras politely. “I am glad the class is a good one. I heard voices that the two third-year classes I have are not as good... And I have 3 Juniors, which is a mystery for everyone” he continued. He was not completely sure on how to relate with the older colleague, still feeling more like a student than like a teacher. The old lady looked quite relaxed and not really caring about formalities. “Oh, Juniors! They are very cute, lost in the new environment, but you will see how quickly they change and gain confidence”.  
“You have a lot of experience, do you not, Madame?” asked Enjolras.  
“My dear, I started school when I was six and I basically never left, I am 67 now and with a bit of luck I will survive this last year and then retire in peace,” said Madame Dubois, talking to Enjolras the same way a grandmother would talk with her grandson. “Trust me when I say the class is very good!”. There was a short pause and then she continued, looking around suspiciously. “Monsieur Grenouille exaggerates everything and is one of those teachers who think that all students are lazy and stupid”. Enjolras raised an eyebrow, possibly wondering if Madame Dubois just liked to gossip or if she truly had it against the Biology Teacher. “I wonder why he chose to teach in the first place” she mumbled more to herself than to her interlocutor.  
“I had that impression, but the rest of the teachers looked very kind to me and understanding” then he stopped for a second, considering whether or not to share his feelings about the Vice Headmaster. “Javert intimidates me, though”.  
Madame Dubois looked at him whit a newly found seriousness. “Javert is an intransigent man, he is hard on his students and very demanding, but I have known him since he was a new entry like you and in all honesty, I can tell he is a good person, a righteous man and ultimately I came to consider him a trusted friend”. She said it without interruptions, looking Enjolras right in the eyes.  
“I hope I will be able to get along with him. I know some colleagues dislike him and some others consider him a good reference point”. He said, truly hoping to create a good relationship with his superior that, to his surprise, reminded him about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is some kind of a long note that will be copied under every single chapter that explains some choices I made. I have based most of my decision on the novel rather than the Musical or movie adaptation.  
> First thing first: Les Amis de l’ABC. In the book, they all have different ages, and for some of them the year of birth is unknown; due to logistic reasons in the FF they all are the same age (18) except for Enjolras who is 24 and Feuilly who is 20. As for the political opinions and idea, it is impossible to keep faith to the novel while projecting the characters in the modern world and it would be wrong to just say they are leftist, although some of them are openly said to be leftists. In the book they have different political opinions and the only three things they all agree with are the abolition of the monarchy, voting rights for all (maybe not women) and improvement of the living and working condition. Plus, given the acronym they chose for their group, I’d assume they would want a more accessible education. Not all of those ideas can be used in a modern days setting (France is a republic already and everyone can vote, women included), but I do think that in modern time they would be interested in what goes on in Europe and in the world and not only in France.  
> About Enjolras, I am not making him openly gay. From the novel, you can gather that he is too idealist to care about women and relationship so, for the sake of simplicity, I will just make him asexual. Also, in the book, he is some sort of detached person, not really a friend with the others (he calls them citizens and only when the barricade is about to fall he calls them brothers and friends) and that’s the reason why I put him as a teacher to separate him from the others.  
> With the other Amis I am taking more liberties relationships- wise since Hugo doesn’t say much.  
> About Javert, it is controversial whether or not he should be considered a villain. In my personal opinion, he is definitely the antagonist, but morally speaking he is a good man, therefore I put him as a good character, but trying to maintain the characteristic traits of his personality.


	2. The last first day of school

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for posting once a week. Anyway, this is the chapter, and it's going to be the last one without angst, drama etc..  
> Just a little warning: at a certain point there will be an episode of sexual abuse, that is sadly an episode that happened in my school when I was a student. There will be no graphic description, but since it could be a touchy topic for some of you I just want to warn you. In any case, I will write it again before said chapter (should be chapter 8).  
> Enjoy the lightness while you can!

“Jean-Claude Courfeyrac!” called Madame Courfeyrac from the kitchen.  
“Yes, mom?” replied his son from behind the screen of his mobile. Madame Courfeyrac appeared in the living room holding a spoon and wearing the apron his son had bought for her in Italy.  
“What on Earth are you doing?” she asked. At the confused look on his son’s face she added “Tomorrow you have school and your clothes are not ironed, your pencil case is still on the sofa – the same place it has been for the past two months – and your new books are all over the place!” she said, theatrically pointing at the mess that was on the sofa.  
“I’ll take care of it later, don’t worry” smirked back Courfeyrac.  
“Dinner will be ready in half an hour and I want it done before then” she instructed, leaving no room for a reply. “And come help me set the table when you are done!”  
“Why can’t Gabrielle do it?” pouted Courfeyrac, trying to dump the task on his sister.  
“Because she is 8 and you are 18! And her school bag has been ready for days, while you are always doing things at the last available second!” intervened his father, lifting his eyes from the book he was reading.  
“Fine, I’m coming, I’m coming…” gave in Courfeyrac.  
“And don’t bother bringing your phone, you know I disapprove devices at the dining table. Furthermore, your friends can only benefit from not hearing your voice for an hour, a privilege we haven’t had in18 years” sarcastically added Monsieur Courfeyrac rising from the armchair and joining his wife in the kitchen.  
“Very funny, dad, very funny” muttered Courfeyrac, grabbing the things that were on the sofa and simply moving them on his bed.  
“Have you done your homework?” asked Courfeyrac’s mother once the dinner was served.  
Courfeyrac froze, the spoon half-way to his mouth. “That’s not a nice topic to discuss at the dining table, don’t you think mother dear?”  
Monsieur Courfeyrac smiled in his glass of wine, then quickly changed expression. “Answer to your mother, Jean-Claude” he instructed after receiving a warning look from his wife.  
“I’ve done Math, Physics, Chemistry and English” quickly replied Courfeyrac, hoping she would drop the subject.  
“What about the other subjects?” she urged instead.  
“I copied German from Musichetta, Spanish from ‘Ferre, French and History form Jehan and R gave me some of his old notebooks for History of Art” he replied nonchalantly.  
“Do you think that is a responsible choice?” casually asked his father, not at all worried by his son’s attitude.  
“Don’t worry Dad, I’ve chosen wisely who to copy them from!” he said with a smirk. His mother just went back to the soup without commenting any further.

“Adrien, dear, is your school bag ready?” Asked calmly Madame Combeferre, already knowing the answer.  
“Yes, Mom, it is. Do you need help with dinner?” offered her son while dipping the spoon into the mayonnaise sauce and bringing it to his mouth.  
“No, it’s almost ready! Just go in your father’s office, tell him dinner is ready and his clients can wait until tomorrow morning” she asked him instead, pretending she had not seen his son putting the spoon back into the sauce.  
“He’s coming already,” he said, recognising the heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.  
“So, Adrien, ready for your last first day of school? Excited?” asked his father entering the dining-room.  
“Not really excited…” he shrugged. “I’d love a more stimulating environment instead of this apathetic school”. He added to answer his father’s questioning look.  
“Yet, you refused to go to a private school…” emphasised Monsieur Combeferre, in his voice no trace of reproach whatsoever.  
“Please, don’t start that, I do not regret my choice in the slightest” stated Combeferre, then he added, “I’m happy to see Courf though, I’ve missed him”.  
“You spent most of the summer together! And isn’t he constantly sending vocals on that diabolic device?!” remarked Madame Combeferre, smiling at her son. “Sometimes I think he lives here, I hear his voice more often than I hear yours!” added his father.  
“I’m happy to see the others, too” Combeferre corrected himself sitting at the dining table.

“The connection is terrible, I’m sorry Marius”. A barely audible voice said from the other side of the screen, then finally the hand moved from the camera and Marius was able to see his interlocutor.  
“It’s good enough that I can see you!” Marius said, excited to talk to his father for the first time since he had left one month prior.  
“So, ready to start again?” Monsieur Pontemry asked. His son’s mood shifted immediately.  
“Kinda… it’s weird that you won’t be there tomorrow morning. It’s the first time you are not there to wish me good luck” he stated trying not to sound like he was reproaching him not being there.  
“I know, I’m sorry, but I will be back for your graduation!”. Marius’ smile came back as quickly as it had gone away a few seconds earlier.  
“How are things going with your Grandfather?” asked his father.  
“Fine, but I have the impression he still lives in the XVII century… and it’s super annoying to have a butler, a waiter and some valet asking me if I need help to get dressed!” Marius said, half amused, half annoyed.  
“Don’t I know that… You’ll get used to it” reassured him Monsieur Pontmercy.  
“Yeah, sure, you went to Afghanistan because you couldn’t stand him anymore…” Marius sarcastically said. His father’s face suddenly became more serious. “That’s not the reason I chose the military life, you know that”.  
“Yes, I know. Still, you seem to prefer a military base in the Middle East to your father-in-law’s house”. He replied, his mood shifting again.  
“Have you been asking him what you wanted to know about your mother?” his father asked, changing topic all of a sudden.  
“I did, but he never really answers and I get the impression that he doesn‘t want to talk about her at all” Marius explained quickly.  
“It‘s hard for him too. I loved your mother and I miss her, but he lost a daughter that day”. Monsieur Pontmercy had never liked his father-in-law and often couldn’t understand the man’s ideas and feelings, but on that specific topic, he had always been understanding.  
“This house seems like an altar to her,” Marius said. “Her pictures are everywhere. He still has her school books, the medals she won when she was horseriding, the thesis from University...” he added, sadness shadowing his eyes.  
“He cares for you too, he’s not great at showing affection, but you are his grandchild and he loves you,” said his father, trying to comfort him.  
“Sure,” he said sceptically. “Anyway, I think he had a bit of a shock when I told him I go to a public school”. His father laughed at the sole idea of the older man’s reaction. “That’s for sure! Have you told the chauffeur that you will take the underground tomorrow morning?”  
“Not yet! Should I ask him to sit down before I tell him?” half-joked Marius. “Dear Lord, some days I get the impression I have been cast for Downton Abbey!” he joked again, thinking to the TV series he had been forced to watch during summer.  
“Now I don’t know what you are talking about” commented his father, who clearly had managed to avoid it. “I have to go now, say hello to your Grandfather. And good luck for tomorrow!” quickly said Monsieur Pontmercy.  
“Thanks, Dad, be safe!” Marius managed to reply before the video-call ended.

Jean Prouvoire was sitting at his desk, only the light from the lamp illuminating his paper. He used to write to deal with his emotions. Poetry, mainly, but he delighted himself with short stories of romantic love and occasionally with satiric pieces of work involving teachers and the headmaster. Needless to say, the latter was not meant to leave his room.  
“Jean, could you stop writing for a moment? Just the time to come to eat your supper before it gets cold…” his mother interrupted his stream of consciousness.  
“Sorry Mom, I’m just a little nervous about tomorrow…” he said putting down the pen.  
Suddenly his father’s head popped in the room, promptly followed by the rest of his body. “But the last class you were in was good, wasn’t it? It will be the same classmates, right?” he asked, concerned for his only child’s well being.  
“It was good and the classmates were nice, but it normally doesn’t last for long…” Jean replied, used to have a hard time at school.  
“Don’t worry too much sweetheart, you’ll be fine” tried to reassure him his mother. “That Courfeyrac who has been texting you all summer seems like a nice chap” She added referring to the jolly voice that had been coming out of Jean’s mobile every day over the past couple of months.  
“And your friend… the one that dropped by last week… how was his name?” asked Monsieur Prouvoire, squeezing his eyes in the effort to remember.  
“Ferre. Yes, they are nice, I enjoy their company” Jean said with a shy smile.  
“And that’s one of the best things you have ever said about your classmates!” exclaimed his mother. “Now let’s eat, it’s getting cold”.

“I’d like to propose a toast!” announced a man in his early sixties. “To Feuilly, that is going back to school and that starting tomorrow will work all the graveyard shifts, all public holidays and every single weekend!” he said raising the glass of juice. Office policy forbade alcohol within the four walls of the supermarket.  
“Yes, thank you very much…” answered Feuilly, not nearly as excited as his colleague seemed to be.  
“Seriously though, we are proud of you!” added another one, much younger than the first.  
“And what for?” asked bitterly Feuilly. “I’m just going back to take a goddammed diploma before they put it in the requirements to be a check-out boy and they fire me for not having it!” he joked, trying to hide his concerns.  
“I bet you’ll like the taste of it and in no time we will find you in University!” said again the older man, the manager of the customer service.  
“Don’t joke about that… with all the graduated with honours that are unemployed, I wouldn’t be surprised if they updated the requirement for the check-out employees and we’ll all need a PhD to keep working here!”. His statement fell into nothingness, swallowed by chatter and toasts.

“Joly, Bossuet, come in” welcomed them cheerfully Musichetta’s mother opening the door.  
“Bonsoir Madame” wawed them jointly, stepping into the perfectly tidy living room.  
“Musichetta, hurry up! They are here!” yelled Madame Petit at the corridor. From the room on the left came e loud “Coming!”. Musichetta showed up in the living room a few seconds later. “Hi, guys! Have you brought your things?” she greeted cheerfully.  
“We basically live here, we have drawers in your room with all our stuff” pointed out Joly matter-of-factly.  
“I meant the books and bags for tomorrow!” she replied, shaking her head and playfully punching Joly on one arm.  
“Of course we have,” said Bossuet promptly. “I dropped the Lawbook while I was packing it and it landed on my foot!” he continued, clearly finding it amusing. Joly, on the other hand, seemed everything but amused. “I told you we have to go to the ER and get it checked out, it might be broken!” he prompted his best friend.  
“For the millionth time, it’s not broken!” was the annoyed reply.  
“Ok, do as you like,” pouted Joly, “but the consequences of…” he started, soon interrupted by Musichetta. “Drop it, Joly, he is fine!” she said loudly, leaving no room for further discussion. Then she turned to face her mother, who had been enjoying the comedy provided by her daughter’s eccentric friends. “Can we get some dinner?”  
Madame Petit seized the opportunity to continue the theatre they had been putting up in the past few minutes and displayed her most serious face. “You can come and fix yourselves the dinner if you are hungry, this is not a restaurant!” she announced keeping her face straight. After enjoying the confused stares for a few seconds she cracked a laugh. “Just joking, it’ll be ready in 10 minutes!” and then turning to her daughter she added, “But seriously, ‘Chetta, turn off the light in your room, this ain’t Versailles”. She marched toward the kitchen with a determined look, almost as if the dinner was going to put up a fight.  
“So, Chetta, do you know who will be replacing Monsieur Blanchard for Modern Studies?” Bossuet asked ten half an hour later, biting the fourth chicken wing.  
“Not a clue, but maybe Combeferre knows…” she suggested.  
“He doesn’t… I read his reply on the group chat before it was invaded by Courf’s vocals…” replied Joly scrolling on his phone to find the message.  
“So no one knows?” asked again Musichetta, dipping her chicken wing into the spicy sauce and bringing it to her mouth.  
Bossuet swallowed this bite and reached for the water. He had, as it always happened to him, dipped the wing into the wrong sauce and as a consequence his mouth was on fire. “Maybe Marius, but he is not answering the texts since he moved with his grandfather”.  
“Whoever he or she will be, the first thing will be telling us we didn’t finish the program last year and now we have to rush!” said Musichetta, foreseeing a horrible first month of school spent over the third-year book.  
“The poor man had a stroke!” tried to justify Bossuet.  
“I always thought that they should retire earlier,” said instead Joly, who had been saying the man was about to die since the first time he had set eyes on him.  
“Let’s just hope Madame Dubois makes it till the finals…” giggled Musichetta referring to the French teacher.  
Madame Petit, who had been listening to the conversation without intervening, shoot an indignant look at her daughter, but instead of an apology for her unhappy statement, she received an equally indignant “What?!” from both Joly and Bossuet.

“Cheers!” said Grantaire rising a bottle of wine – the second – at Bahorel’s address.  
“Cheers! To our last year!” replied the other with a muffled voice.  
“Hopefully,” mumbled Grantaire, “this will be our last year”. He sipped from the bottle one more time before putting it on the table.  
There were a few quiet minutes before Bahorel spoke again, this time with a much more serious expression printed on his face. “So, what are your plans for this year?”  
“What do you mean ‘my plans’?”, wine running down his throat.  
“I was thinking if it wouldn’t be better for us to start putting some effort...” explained the younger of the pair, leaving it for Grantaire to complete the sentence.  
“You mean in studying?” he asked, fogginess suddenly gone.  
“Well, last year we both made it because Madame Dubois put up a fight for us” pointed out Bahorel while gesturing at the waitress to bring him another beer.  
“Yeah, if the decision were solely in Javert’s hands we would be going to start the third year again. I have to thank Madame LeRoux, too…” admitted Grantaire, thinking for the first time in two months to the Art Teacher.  
“I, on the other hand, have the favour of our beloved Miss Williams”, laughed Bahorel. He disliked the English Teacher for her lack of teaching skills and interest in being in a French school in the first place, but she was against Javert’s idea of having him repeating the third year.  
“Just because she has a crush on you”. This time was Grantaire’s turn to laugh. Bahorel looked at him, patiently waiting for him to stop, then he spoke again, this time in a more pensive tone. “Maybe I should give it a go,” was the outcome of his intellectual effort.  
“Your English sucks!” Grantaire immediately said, ducking immediately after to avoid Bahorel’s hand.  
“So does yours!” he replied. “But the tongue would be otherwise employed, I don’t think there would be much talking…” he smirked after further thinking.  
“I don’t do much talking with French speakers either, so I guess you are right” admitted Grantaire.  
The hilarity of the moment was spoiled by a sudden thought crossing Bahorel’s mind. “Do you think they will all still be there? The teachers I mean” he asked quietly.  
“Unless Madame Dubois has died during summer, I guess so” replied ironically the drunkest of the two.  
“She is not retiring, is she?” questioned again Bahorel passing his hand on the tattoo on his left forearm, an involuntary gesture that he did every time something worried him.  
“Combeferre said she is staying one more year” replied Grantaire, digging in his mind to remember if it really was Combeferre the one who said it.  
“Thank God, without her, we are fucked” was the relieved reaction. “But I think we are fucked anyway this year, so maybe I will put some proper effort in studying. Will you?”. Bahorel didn’t really hate school, he just found it a waste of time and energy to be forced to learn plenty of notions that would bear no real utility in the real world.  
Grantaire, on the other hand, only cared for his paintings and needed a high school diploma only to access the Art Academy. “I don’t think I’ll study, I only need the piece of paper...” he said before grabbing the bottle of wine and rising it one more time. “To another year of drunkness and hungoverness!” he toasted.  
“Hungoverness doesn’t exist” pointed out Bahorel.  
“Who said that?!” exclaimed Grantaire.  
“Madame Dubois, several times over the past three years,” said Bahorel, a simile appearing on his face at the thought of Madame Dubois demolishing Grantaire’s use of the word hungoverness.  
“I must have been hungover” concluded Grantaire, emptying the bottle.

“Have you prepared everything for tomorrow?” called out Eponine hoping at least one of her siblings would answer the question. After a minute of absolute silence, she threw a pen at his brother and repeated the question. “Almost, I’m still working on changing the name on some of the books,” said Gavroche, the annoyance perfectly clear in his tone.  
“I’m sorry you have to use third-hand books…” Eponine tried to apologise, feeling responsible for not giving her brother a better life.  
“I don’t really care, it’s just annoying to have to delete the names from them, it’s a waste of time” he pouted. Then he added with a smile “At least ‘Zelma has already completed most of the exercises!”.  
“Yeah, you should maybe delete them… it will end up like last year and ‘Ponine will have to come to explain why your exercises are all done already” intervened Azelma, finally bothering to lift her head from the magazine she was reading.  
“Fair enough,” conceded Gavroche, “I’ll start erasing what I can”.  
“Good, but leave it for now and help me set the table and fix some dinner” instructed Eponine from the kitchen, worryingly staring at the empty fridge.  
Half an hour and several imprecations later, they finally managed to sit on the sofa each one of them holding a dish.  
“This thing – whatever it is – isn’t bad at all… just missing some salt,” carefully said Azelma, well aware of how touchy her sister was about her cooking skills.  
“Salt is over,” said Eponine matter-of-factly.  
“How many weeks are we supposed to go without salt?” inquired Gavroche, wondering how they were possibly going to eat pasta without salt.  
“Courfeyrac is bringing some tomorrow” replied the elder of the three, before adding, “too much salt is not good for health”.  
“I wonder how long will it take before his mother realises he’s feeding us from her kitchen,” said Azelma, mentally trying to count how many times Courfeyrac had given them any kind of food, from salt to baked beans, from oil to his father’s lunchbox.  
“She knows” admitted Eponine, “for what else reason would she comply when her son asks her 8 sandwiches for lunch?”  
“Anyway, where are mom and dad?” asked Gavroche out of the blue.  
“Working on something, they‘ll be back late” answered Eponine, trying to be as vague as possible.  
“You mean working on a way to end up in jail again?” teased Azelma.  
“What else would they work for?” confirmed Gavroche sounding almost annoyed by his sister’s tentatives to protect them from their parents’ criminal activities.  
“Let’s talk about something else, shall we?” interrupted Eponine. “Gav, are you walking to school by yourself tomorrow? I need to be at school on time, first class is with a new teacher and I have to give a good first impression, I can’t be late” she explained, knowing all too well her brother was more than happy to go by himself.  
“I can walk by myself,” he confirmed, “but you need to pick me up ‘cause teachers don’t let us go unless there is an adult or the school bus” he reminded her, lifting his eyes as if the considered absurd the idea of forbidding to an 8-year-old to go back home alone.  
“I know” sough Eponine. “‘Zelma?”  
“I’m walking down with Anne, but you can join us if you want!”. Eponine shook her head, horrified at the sole idea of spending 15 minutes with her sister’s bubbly friend. “Anyway, what are we eating exactly?” asked Azelma, bravely bringing the fork to her mouth.  
“Liver. Expired two days ago” answered Eponine, then she waited for her words to sink in into her sister’s head. She knew it had happened when Azelma’s horrified look went from Eponine to her fork and back to Eponine.  
“How can you make everything taste good!?” exclaimed Gavroche, who clearly had not fully understood what ‘expired liver’ truly meant.  
“It’s not good, it’s just that we are used to mom’s food and nothing can taste worse than that” clarified Azelma giving her sister a sorry look.

 

At 7.40 on Monday, 4th September Marius finally managed to find the classroom. He really couldn't understand why they had to move them in a different classroom every year, but most of all he had no idea why his classroom was never on the ground floor.  
“Morning everyone!” he greeted entering the room. That early, almost no one was there, only Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Joly.  
“Did you come with a limousine, Marius?” asked Courfeyrac pulling him into a hug.  
“My grandfather tried…” laughed Maius, “but I won that argument!”.  
“Ignore him, Marius,” said Combefferre, giving him a pat on Marius’ shoulder once he had managed to free himself from Courfeyrac’s hug. “’Morning, Ferre!” said Marius, happy to see his main competitor for the prize of best student.  
“We thought you had been kidnapped, you haven’t been answering texts” as usually, Joly’s words were words of concern.   
“I had a discussion with my grandfather and he grounded me and took my phone. I got it back this morning” explained Marius.  
“He can’t ground you!” Joly exclaimed indignantly.  
“Technically, he can since I’m not 18 yet…” Marius pointed out. Courfeyrac lifted an eyebrow: his parents couldn’t find a way to ground him since he was 2.  
“What about Bossuet and Musichetta? Weren’t you all going to come together?” enquired Marius, before anyone could ask him what he was planning for his 18th birthday.  
Joly pouted: “Bossuet forgot the school bag, realized when we arrived and he is gone back to get it”. Combeferre shook his head knowingly. “You sent Musichetta with him?” he questioned.  
“Yep. Otherwise, the risk is that he forgets something else” confirmed Joly, who, after years of friendship, knew his best friend all too well.  
“Hi, guys! Everyone had a good time during holidays?” the voice came directly from the corridor, announcing the arrival of the loudest of their group, who promptly appeared a few moments later. Everyone greeted Bahorel. The chatter about holidays and summertime adventures was only interrupted by the arrival of Musichetta and her unlucky boyfriend – Bossuet’s bag getting entangled in the handle of the door – and Jean. Courfeyrac pulled all of them into a big group hug, making Musichetta laugh. Bossuet instead touched his ribs to check they were all still intact and Jean proceeded to turn bright red. Courfeyrac smirked, earning a glare from Combeferre and making Jean blush even more.  
“Where is Grantaire?” asked the poet of the group, who had a good relationship with R despite their great difference in personality and approach to life.  
“Late, didn’t hear the alarm this morning” answered Bahorel showing him a text from Grantaire – the phone actually saying ‘drunk chap’.  
“Why is he saved as ‘drunk chap’?” inquired Jean. Courfeyrac took the mobile out of Bahorel hands, looked at it and then proceded to pass it over. Within 30 seconds Joly and Bossuet were happily scrolling through his pictures and sending them to group chat.  
“I called him ‘drunk chap’ because I am bad with names and in first grade, I saved everyone’s number with the first impression I had had”. Explained Bahorel to a shocked Jean, explaining to him how Combeferre was ‘glasses’, Courfeyrac was ‘laughing’ and Eponine was ‘hot brunette’.  
“Excuse me!?” punched him Eponine, who had just arrived and as the first thing had heard her friend call her ‘hot brunette’. Bahorel used as an extenuating condition the fact he had changed it in ‘very hot brunette’ a couple of days late.  
“Hi, Ep! Did you spend good holidays?” welcomed her Combeferre with a smile.  
“Nothing worth sharing,” she replied, returning his smile, “and the school year has started in the wrong way though...”. At everyone confused look, she specified, “I have already bumped in Javert this morning” and most of the group nodded knowingly.  
The conversation soon shifted to the new teacher, whom anyone seemed to know.  
“So, Marius, any idea who the new teacher is?” asked Musichetta, knowing that if there was a chance of knowing in advance, that chance laid with Marius.  
“Monsieur Enjolras, don’t know the first name…” he said, glad he had a chance of getting away from Courfeyrac investigating on his love-life.  
“And?” Joly and Bossuet urged him.  
“If I had access to the Internet I would have checked it out…” Marius told them, ready to start explaining his thesis on how pointless is, in the XXI century, to deprive an adolescent of his devices.  
“Morning…” providentially said Grantaire, showing up only two minutes before the bell.  
“What an honour, R!” greeted him Courfeyrac, trying to hug him and receiving as a reply a grumpy “Don’t be so loud!”.  
“How are you doing!” shouted instead Courfeyrac.  
“I hate you,” told him Grantaire. Then he turned to the others to share a fundamental piece of information. “New teacher is hot”.  
“I wouldn’t know,” said Marius, interpreting it as a question.  
“I’m telling you, Marius, the new teacher’s hot!” said again Grantaire.  
Before he could give any more specifics on how hot the new teacher supposedly was, the bell rang.  
“We’ll find out soon enough” cut it short Eponine, sitting at her desk.

The man entering the room immediately after the bell was tall – at least 1,85 thought Grantaire – and had curly blond hair. He walked down to the teacher’s desk and sat down quietly. He had not asked for silence nor he had said anything, but the class had gone quiet all of a sudden. Even Courfeyrac, that wasn’t likely to be silent, unless he was threatened with an oral test, was looking at him without saying a word. Enjolras lifted his eyes just the time to say “Good morning,” and the went back to the class register to sign it. The students answered with a polite “Good morning” and then fell back into a surreal silence.  
“My name is Monsieur Enjolras,” he announced, rising from the chair he had occupied only for the time necessary to carry out the bureaucratic procedure of signing the register. “I will be your Modern Studies’ teacher for this year,” he announced, just to avoid leaving things untold. He didn’t particularly enjoy the small talk that – as Madame Dubois had told him – was the normal praxis on the first day; he preferred by far speaking about things he knew about, and his social skills were somewhat limited, especially when it came to hormonal teenagers.  
“Told you he was hot!” Grantaire told to Eponine, not bothering to keep his voice down and then leaning against the wall.  
“I will pretend I have not heard you, Monsieur…?” Enjolras left the sentence hanging there for Grantaire to complete. As hard as it could be, he knew he had to earn the respect of his student, a vital condition for all teachers, but even more for him, since – he suddenly realised – some of his students looked older than him.  
“I’m R!” Grantaire replied, slighting teasing to see how friendly and up for jokes the new teacher was.  
“Would you happen to have a surname and a first name?” questioned Enjolras, who had no intention to start calling his students with nicknames.  
“Roland Grantaire, but R is fine,” told him Grantaire. Ah, well, now he knew how the troublemaker Monsieur Grantaire looked like. For some reason, he had the impression that Monsieur tattoos leaning against the opposite wall was the other troublemaker, Monsieur Bahorel.  
“I see,” he commented, quickly thinking how to deal with the first challenge of his teaching experience. “Very well, Monsieur Grantaire. You will do me the favour of asking permission before speaking and wait for said permission to be granted.” Grantaire’s jaw dropped slightly, but immediately his surprised expression turned into a smirk. Excellent, Monsieur R had taken it as a challenge. Great. Excellent.  
“Every opinion is open to discussion, but basic rules of civilized cohabitation must be followed at all times” Enjolras spoke again, this time ignoring Grantaire and looking at the other students.  
In his plan for the day was to explain how he handled things, and he had already wasted time to deal with a head of black curls – that, he couldn’t help but notice, seemed as rebel as his own.  
“First of all,” he started, “next class you will have a test, just to have a general idea of your preparation in my subject”. The student sitting in the desk right in front of him raised his hand and Enjolras braced himself, assuming the students were about to complain. Still, he couldn’t ignore him. “Yes, Monsieur...?”, he said, once again leaving it for the student to complete with his name.  
“Adrian Combeferre” introduced himself to the student. “Forgive my interruption, Monsieur, but we have not finished the program last year, we didn’t do the last two chapters”. Combeferre spoke confidently and it was not – Enjolras remarked – a complaint nor a protest, but a simple observation.  
Enjolras nodded to let him understand he had heard him. “Duly noted. I will modify the test accordingly” he explained. There was no need to test the students on something he already knew that they hadn’t studied. For a few more minutes he spoke without interruption, explaining marking criteria, oral test and other boring – and sadly necessary – matters. “Any questions?” he asked when he was finished.  
The student he assumed was Monsieur Bahorel spoke, without raising his hand and without permission. “What if at the end of the term we have an F?”. Well, at least it wasn’t a sarcastic comment.  
“There will be time for a few extra oral tests” Enjolras reassured him. “But I want you to know that I do not only look at grades but also at the progress you make during the term and at what you do in class” he added. Then he paused for a second before completing his affirmation with a practical example. “For instance, Monsieur Talkative sitting in front of me” he pointed at Courfeyrac, who was sitting in the front row with Combeferre, “has been trying to chat with his neighbour on the left since the beginning of the lesson”.  
Courfeyrac smiled what was supposed to look like an innocent smile. “Desolé Monsieur, he is new and I was trying to make him feel welcome!” he said, pointing at the newly met Feuilly who, on the other hand, was trying to sink as deeply as possible in his chair.  
“Monsieur Courfeyrac, I assume” asked Enjolras, remembering the talkative student being mentioned at the teachers’ meeting.  
“How did you guess?” asked back Courfeyrac. “Did Madame Sanchez tell you I make empty desks talk?” he enquired, knowing the Spanish teacher had been complaining about it for three years.  
“She did use those words” admitted Enjolras. “So you must be Monsieur Feuilly, am I right?” he asked, looking at the victim of Courfeyrac’s loquacity.  
“I am, Sir” replied Feuilly, staring at the wall behind Enjolras and trying to look as innocent as possible. Enjolras decided that there was no need to punish Courfeyrac for trying to be nice and Feuilly for not telling him to keep silent, therefore he opted for a less severe approach. “And did Monsieur Courfeyrac manage to make you feel welcome?” he asked, just to put Feuilly out of his misery.  
“He did,” Feuilly said, relaxing a bit and smiling to his classmate.  
“Is the desk beside Monsieur Feuilly supposed to be empty?”. Enjolras looked at Combeferre, who clearly was the most reliable source of information up to that moment.  
“Oui, Monsieur. It’s an extra one” Combeferre promptly answered.  
“Can he move his desk with ours, Sir?” gesticulated Courfeyrac, enthusiastically getting up to rearrange the position of Feuilly’s desk without waiting for permission.  
“Perhaps, he could take your place and you sit with the empty desk, so we can prove my colleague’s theory” proposed instead Enjolras, and, although it was supposed to be a joke, he said it so serious a tone that even Courfeyrac stared at him in silence for a moment before bursting into laughter, soon followed by most of his classmates.  
The rest of the lessons went by smoothly, with his students shortly introducing themselves. It was a very interesting group, Enjolras had to admit. Among the pupils was a poet, an aspiring doctor who tried to diagnose him with who knows what illness, a chronical ill-fated boy who was already going bald, and a few other interesting personalities. The joker – the centre around which everything seemed to move – was arguably Courfeyrac, but Bahorel showed a proclivity for humour and being loud too. Combeferre was clearly the guide, the go-to man in case of problems or – most likely – a need for help with studying. The girls, a total of four out of the whole 27 students, seemed to know very well how to handle themselves and were probably the ones wearing trousers.  
The only trait his students seemed to have in common was the lack of interest towards current affairs, economy, politics and international relations; in short, the very concepts he was supposed to teach them. How he was going to get their attention was a mystery to Enjolras, but he surely was going to try his best, as he was trying his best to remember his students’ names and faces. He was associating to each student a particular trait he had noticed – the same technique used by Bahorel. But, needless to say, Enjolras had not labelled Eponine as ‘hot brunette’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so here we go! The first lesson!  
> Just for the record, I have nothing against Downton Abbey, I love it! I just can't see Marius binge-watching it all summer. 
> 
> This is some kind of a long note that will be copied under every single chapter that explains some choices I made. I have based most of my decision on the novel rather than the Musical or movie adaptation.  
> First thing first: Les Amis de l’ABC. In the book, they all have different ages, and for some of them the year of birth is unknown; due to logistic reasons in the FF they all are the same age (18) except for Enjolras who is 24 and Feuilly who is 20. As for the political opinions and idea, it is impossible to keep faith to the novel while projecting the characters in the modern world and it would be wrong to just say they are leftist, although some of them are openly said to be leftists. In the book they have different political opinions and the only three things they all agree with are the abolition of the monarchy, voting rights for all (maybe not women) and improvement of the living and working condition. Plus, given the acronym they chose for their group, I’d assume they would want a more accessible education. Not all of those ideas can be used in a modern days setting (France is a republic already and everyone can vote, women included), but I do think that in modern time they would be interested in what goes on in Europe and in the world and not only in France.  
> About Enjolras, I am not making him openly gay. From the novel, you can gather that he is too idealist to care about women and relationship so, for the sake of simplicity, I will just make him asexual. Also, in the book, he is some sort of detached person, not really a friend with the others (he calls them citizens and only when the barricade is about to fall he calls them brothers and friends) and that’s the reason why I put him as a teacher to separate him from the others.  
> With the other Amis, I am taking more liberties relationships- wise since Hugo doesn’t say much.  
> About Javert, it is controversial whether or not he should be considered a villain. In my personal opinion he is definitely the antagonist, but morally speaking he is a good man, therefore I put him as a good character, but trying to maintain the characteristic traits of his personality.


	3. Why are you asking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is going to write an essay for Enjolras. Enjolras might interpret it in the wrong way.

“So, Feuilly, what’s your first name?” Courfeyrac asked as soon as Enjolras left the classroom.

“Nicolas, but most people call me Feuilly” Feuilly simply replied.

“Great! We use mostly surnames, too!” Bahorel loudly exclaimed. It wasn't something they had expressly agreed, it just came naturally; it had started with Grantaire because he hated his first name, although no one except Eponine knew the reason, then Courfeyrac had decided he had enough of people calling him at times Jean and at times Claude, so he had decided to go by his abbreviated surname – Courf. The others had simply followed, with the exception of Jehan, who had just gained an ‘h'. 

“So, why are you joining us this year?” Joly questioned. Very much like Jehan, he had gained a few consonants and was often called Jolllly, with four ‘l'. 

“I dropped out of school two years ago, but I decided to resume,” Feuilly said quietly. He knew someone sooner or later was going to ask him why; nevertheless, he didn’t want to bring out the topic himself.

“And why did you drop out in the first place?” Bossuet demanded to know with a tone that very much resembled outrage at the idea of dropping out of school.

“When I turned 18 I had to leave my foster family and find a job, I didn’t have time for school,” Feuilly explained, staring at the floor more than at his new classmates. 

Courfeyrac went wide-eyed for the curiosity and popped a fairly inopportune question. “Why were you in foster care?” he nonchalantly said. 

Combeferre stared at him in disbelief and promptly pulled his arm, hissin g into his ears an exasperated “Courf!”. Courfeyrac was about to reply with an equally exasperated ‘what', but stopped himself when he realised all the  A mis except for Grantaire were shooting reproachful looks at him. 

“It’s ok,” Feuilly said looking at Combeferre and hoping that a mild smile would reassure him. “I have been abandoned at birth and never been adopted,” he spoke again, this time looking at Courfeyrac, who proceeded to turn slightly red and – to everyone's surprise – to shift nervously position. 

The revelation about Feuilly's childhood had left everyone speechless. It was quite normal for Courfeyrac to be curious, which often led him to be overly nosy, but he was certainly not an insensitive person and if there was something he really hated was to make people feel  sad .

“So, Feuilly, some of us are going to the café just in front after class, you are welcome to join!" he said, trying to make up for investigating on his classmate’s private life.

“Sounds good, but I can't stay long," smiled Feuilly who, experienced like he was, had understood Courfeyrac's embarrassment. "My shift is starting at 3.30," he added to answer his classmates' inquisitive stares. 

“That’s no problem,” Eponine reassured him, “I have to pick up my brother at 3.15, so I’ll leave early too,” she explained to Feuilly.

“Everyone is leaving around four anyway,” Combeferre added smiling at the new member of the group. Before long everyone started scrolling through their phones looking for their agenda. Every new school year brought changes in schedules and routines and the only one who apparently was able to keep track of everything without writing it down was Combeferre. He had plenty of commitments, from tutoring the younger students who struggled the most to volunteering in his neighbourhood – but he still managed to be the one who studied the most and passed notes and precious records on to everyone else. 

“Yeah, some of us have sport, Jehan has Music Academy, ‘Ferre is going to bury his nose in a book...” Musichetta summed up trying to recall her friends’ commitments.

“Where are you working?” suddenly asked Grantaire, then he continued, “because if it is a café, or better still, a pub, I might decide to keep you company”. Feuilly smiled, understanding all too well what the newly met R implied.

"Sadly, it's a supermarket and although I do the check out I really can't give you free alcohol. And I should ask for your ID before selling it to you" he warned. Not that he really cared whether or not Grantaire had already turned 18, but he couldn’t risk his job donating beer cans to everyone he knew. “But maybe you can buy an orange juice!”.

“Got the message” laughed Grantaire putting his hand up and surrendering. Then he spotted Madame Dubois and he turned to Courfeyrac. "I would be curious to know if the new teacher is gay", he whispered, loudly enough for the Literature's teacher to hear him. 

* * *

Next was the most feared lessons: Law with Monsieur Javert. It was hard to tell if the complexity of the subject scared the students or if it was the teacher; either way, they had very good reasons to be terrified. Five minutes into the lesson, Javert had already asked Grantaire to either shut  up or leave – phrasing it in a very different way – and to Corfeyrac to stop laughing unless he wished to join his classmate.

To Javert, it seemed like his students had forgotten how to behave with him, so he had decided that a very strict approach and some stern looks were the fastest way to bring his students back to reality. “And stop swinging on that chair, Monsieur Lesgle! We all know how that is going to...". Javert didn't manage to finish his sentence, interrupted by a familiar and loud bang – Lesgle falling from his chair. "...end," he concluded with a sigh.  The foreseeable consequence of Bossuet' s fall, namely Joly screaming, Courfeyrac Grantaire and Bahorel laughing, and the rest of the class giggling and hiding their faces, wasted half of  the teacher ’s time.

Javert was having a hard time understanding why on Earth his student lacked so badly of instinct for self-preservation: the boy was likely to fall from his chair at least once a day, to drop everything that stayed in his hands longer than 30 seconds, and to trip in his own feet. In the beginning, Javert had the impression  his student was doing it on purpose, but in the course of three years teaching to Bossuet he had learned that  he was just very unlucky, a fact that did not seem to bother him at all. The few minutes left to Javert's class went by rather quickly: most of the speech he made sounded exactly like the one he made the three previous years except for the ‘this year you have your finals, there will be no giveaway of good grades' part. Like there had ever been  any giveaway of grades from Javert anyway. 

* * *

English class was completely unremarkable if one doesn't consider Madame Williams flirting with Bahorel and a n attempt of the latter to say a meaningful sentence in English  that left a lot to be desired . For the last class, the students were divided into two groups, one taking chemistry and the other biology. All the teachers seemed to have one thing in common, defined by Courfeyrac as ‘panic for the finals'. 

“It isn’t really panic,” pointed out Combeferre while they made their way to the café. “More like eagerness for us to do well, I think”. Marius nodded in agreement and Joly pouted. “Yeah, but they are already stressing us out! Do you have any idea of how bad for your health it is to be constantly stressed out?!”, he said, panic already prevailing over good sense.

“At least you have nothing to worry about, Joly… Think about Grantaire and I, what should we say?” Bahorel tried, hoping against hope that Joly would calm down.

“Thanks, Bahorel, now I worry about you too!” Joly whined, Bossuet and Musichetta patting his shoulders in the attempt to soothe him. Grantaire would have offered him a cigarette, but the little common sense he had was telling him that that was only going to make things worse.

The discussion about the finals continued during the short walk to the café and was interrupted when the students started helping themselves from the buffet. The café was nice and not very crowded since most of the students preferred to go home at the end of the lessons; only a few students who had detention in the afternoon normally ate there. The manager knew most of the members of the group well and as soon as she saw them she started rearranging the tables in the mezzanine.

When everyone was settled and eating from their trail, Jehan brought up the topic everyone wanted to discuss. “So what do you guys think about Monsieur Enjolras?” he asked casually.

“I had a good impression, actually,” Combeferre replied immediately. He wasn't likely to be enthusiastic about a teacher. 

“He seems to have a clear idea on how he wants to do things”. Marius agreed with a nod, stabbing the sausage in a way he would have never dared at his grandfather’s.

“Well, R was right: he is hot,” Eponine added matter-of-factly.

“Undeniable. Do you think that topic is up for discussion?” Courfeyrac questioned, with implicit reference to Monsieur Enjolras’ words. Marius stared at him for a second, trying to figure out whether or not his friend was joking. When he realised Courfeyrac might have actually discussed it in the teacher’s presence, he did his best to talk him out of it. “I don’t think that is what he meant when he said we are free to discuss everything with him”.

“Marius is probably right, ya know… but if you want to give it a try I think I will really enjoy the scene,” teased him Bahorel, earning a kick right on his knee.

"Do you think he's straight? Normally if they are good-looking they are gay…" Musichetta asked leaning toward Eponine. Eponine shrugged. The teacher was indeed hot, but she definitely did not have the time nor the energy to investigate the new teacher's sexual preferences. 

“Even if he is gay, which I think he is,” interfered Grantaire, “he looks way too serious for a relationship, like Ferre!”. Combeferre, who had been engaged in a conversation with Marius about the upcoming students' elections and the same time listening to the other conversations going on at the table, turned his head to reply to Grantaire. “I don’t know how should I take that” he commented dryly, wondering if he really gave the impression to be too serious for a love life. 

* * *

Enjolras’ morning had been all but easy. After the encounter with his fourth grade, he had spent three hours with three different first grades and an hour with an unworkable third grade. The only quiet time he had – the long break after third class – had been disturbed by a bubbly Madame Dubois asking him if he was gay. Why she cared was a mystery, soon revealed by Madame Dubois herself: "Your fourth grade had hormones all over the place, I could not even compose a full sentence without having to call to order the students". Enjolras had stared at her in confusion for a whole minute, trying to elaborate what he had just heard. "And why – pray say – would you ask if I am homosexual?" Enjolras demanded, sure he was missing something. 

Madame Dubois had grinned, picked up the bag she had momentarily put on the floor and grabbed her coffee. "Grantaire was curious to know, he was discussing it with Courfeyrac when I arrived," she had said, walking away from his colleague and leaving him staring into the void. 

* * *

Later that day, walking back from the metro station to his apartment, Enjolras could not stop thinking about his colleague’s words. He did not really care if his students thought he was homosexual, nor he was worried that such gossip would start circulating in the teachers’ room. He had never cared about  o ther people’s opinions;  more precisely, he did not care what other people thought about him, while he deeply valued second opinions in general. His biggest ambition as a teacher was to create an environment where the students would feel free to express their thoughts, even – and most importantly – if those opinions differed from his own. He valued open confrontation and, teaching a subject that by definition deals with topics concerning current affairs, he was convinced that the best way to help his students develop critical thinking was to allow them to discuss said topics. 

What he surely loathed was his students investigating his private life and judging his choices. This boundary he had set was a consequence of his nature: while a gifted speaker and a charismatic leader, he valued privacy and had always kept his distance. Not even once he had found himself in the middle of a teenage drama nor he had caught the attention of teachers and fellow students with an open display of emotions nor – he couldn’t even remotely imagine such situation – with a love story. For everyone‘s sake, his private life was better left alone.

But now, a student – after only one class – had started wondering about his sexuality. Whether Monsieur Grantaire meant to use it to disrupt his lessons or simply liked to gossip, Enjolras did not know. But there was a third option, subtly suggested by Madame Dubois: if there was something Enjolras really did not want to deal with was a student with sentimental attachment towards him.

As he entered his apartment he dropped the keys in the basket right next to the door and proceeded to remove his tie, a moment he had been waiting for since he had put it on that morning. He opened the fridge in search of something edible and he gave a sigh when he realised he should have stopped by at the market to buy something. 

Renouncing to his meal, he sat on the kitchen table – which was used more as a place to work than as a place to eat – and he pulled out of his bag the reports he had asked Fantine. He didn‘t really believe that his students were as bad as Monsieur Grenouille had described them, so he had decided to ask the school counsellor copies of their files: if he had to deal with problematic students, he better be prepared. 

Halfway through the first file, he got up to make himself a cup of tea. While not perfect, his childhood had been relatively peaceful and stable, but the file he was currently reading – Eponine's – was on a completely different level. There wasn't much in the file, just the same two or three situations repeating themselves over and over again: absences justified with a general ‘personal reasons' had been marked by Fantine with ‘taking care of her siblings', ‘working the morning shift' and ‘court audience'. There were pages and pages of reprimands for absences but no matter how carefully Enjoras read the file he couldn't find traces of bad behaviour or academic failures. The only stain on an otherwise good report was the fact that she had punched a Senior for calling her a whore. While Enjolras disapproved violence, he couldn’t help but think that the boy had deserved it.

Grantaire's file was thicker and filled with bad reports. The most commons were drunkness and disruptive behaviour during classes, which Enjolras assumed was a consequence of excessive alcohol consumption. Apart from that and a couple of fights in the courtyard, there was not much that could justify calling a student ‘criminal'. It must have been annoying to have a student constantly disrupting your lessons, Enjolras could understand that, but he saw no reason why Grantaire could not succeed. As far as he could tell, Grantaire was an intelligent student, since he had managed to fix all his grades in three weeks at the end of the previous year. 

The third file he had requested, Bahorel's, was the thicker one, filled with reprimands for violent behaviour, academic performances that left a lot to be desired and the tendency to destroy school's properties when he was angry. To excuse Bahorel's behaviour there was the fact that he rarely was the one to start the fights and that his rage was directed more towards objects than people. Enjolrasfound himself thinking about the reasons behind that behaviour: in his experience, that kind of anger is never unjustified, so there must have been something behind it, something that was not written in his file and that he was decided to bring to light. Same as for Grantaire, Enjolras could not see why Bahorel could not succeed academically, with the right help and support. 

* * *

On Wednesday morning, after asking his students to separate the desks and distributing the questions for the entry test, he started pacing up and down the room. To his great surprise, all the students including Grantaire and Bahorel were working quietly and keeping their eyes glued to their papers. When he walked bast Combeferre he noticed that he had already filled to sheets with microscopic handwriting and assumed he was regurgitating everything he had learnt about French democratic system; after all, his reputation preceded him; at that see Enjolras deeply regretted not choosing an open/close test. At the end of the test his students quietly stood up one by one to submit the test and left the classroom to their next lesson, nothing like the experience with the third graders, who had been trying to copy during the entire test and had left talking way too loudly and not bothering putting the desks back where they originally were.

"How did you find the test?" Marius asked to Combeferre while they left the classroom. Combeferre scratched his head and cracked his neck before answering.

"It wasn't hard," he replied, "but the questions were not really specific and it was kind of complicated to synthesise effectively all that needed to be said". Marius nodded in agreement.

“I think it was done to help”, intervened Bossuet, immediately supported by Courfeyrac and Joly.

“Yeah, that way everyone could find something to write down, even if they don’t remember details,” explained the latter.

"I couldn't remember much about the election of the president of the Republic, you know, all the deadlines to present the lists of candidates and so on, so I wrote down what I remembered and that was it," said Bahorel. "Do you think that it's going to be enough?" he asked to Combeferre.

“That depends on how generic your answer was and if it was correct,” the other answered carefully but trying to support his friend he commented a little further. "But I dare saying something is still better than nothing, isn't it?". Bahorel shrugged and pouted. "I suppose," he said with a dismissing tone. 

“How did you manage, R?” questioned instead Courfeyrac, knowing all too well that it was an excellent result if his friend had written three sentences.

“Actually, I think I might have written more than Ferre this time!", Grantaire said with a grin. 

“Oh, dear..." sighed Eponine. "What have you written exactly, R?" 

Grantaire gave her a smirk. "Oh, nothing much… I explained the democratic system underlying that there is no point in having a democracy if the so-called citizens are basically braindead and cannot tell the difference between Melanchon and Macron. And the same can be said for the election of the President," he explained, enjoying the effect his words had on his friends.

"Grantaire!" Joly half-screamed. "How could you? What if he shows it to the headmaster? You could be in serious troubles and it's only the third day of school!" he added, shaking his head. Bahorel, Eponine and Bossuet started laughing, soon followed by the rest of the group. Combeferre kept his face straight for a few seconds before breaking into laugher like everyone else.

“How did you do, Feuilly?" asked Jehan curiously a couple of minutes later trying to catch his breath. 

“Not bad, I think. I answered all the questions: they weren’t too hard. I have not been very specific, I hope it will be enough,” he commented. Jehan smiled at him before adding: “You know, with a new teacher is hard to tell how specific we have to be”.

“I just hope he doesn't take Ferre as the point of comparison, because if he does we are fucked!" joked Eponine, playfully punching Combeferre and making everyone burst into laughter once again. 

* * *

Enjolras had spent most part of his weekend correcting test. First of all, he wanted to finish the fourth grade, so that on Monday morning he could turn in the results.

Combeferre had done an excellent job if one does not consider the unreadable handwriting. His answers were complete, detailed and well structured – exactly the way they should have been. Other students had done well, but Combeferre was, up to that moment, the only one to deserve a 20. Pontmercy – whose surname sounded worryingly familiar – and Courfeyrac followed closely and had done well enough to deserve respectively an 18 and a 17. The rest of the class had completed the task sufficiently and he had awarded a few 16s and a more conspicuous number of 14. The three essays he had left were Grantaire', Bahorel's and Feuilly's.

Bahorel’s was incomplete and confused, but the main concepts were correct and Enjolras felt that an 11 was a fair evaluation of his work; Feuilly and done, all in all, a decent job, and deserved a 13. 

When Enjolras finally got to Grantaire's work, his jaw dropped slightly. He had filled three sheets, front and back, with small and elegant calligraphy, something Enjolras wasn't expecting from a student know for being often drunk. He started reading eagerly, truly hoping that the voices he had heard about his student were false. It took less than a minute for Enjolras to put his hands in his hair.  _The French system –_ Grantaire wrote after correctly explaining how the democratic system works –  _although well conceived, is a failing system. Not only there is a lack of participation in the political debate, but the lead of the main political parties, which have been ruling this Country for decades, is left in the hands of the few historical leaders who, besides a strong influence in the democratic process, dispose of the economic resources to impact and shape to their advantage the electoral campaign – with licit and illicit means._

Enjolras stopped to take a deep breath. He mostly agreed with his student's analysis of the problem, and he had answered the question correctly before expressing his personal opinion, but how on earth was he going to evaluate that? The rest of the essay was more of the same: evidence after evidence that the current French political system did not work as it should have. Enjolras spent several minutes trying to find the solution to his dilemma and finally concluded that he was simply going to grade the part in which Grantaire had bothered with the notions and ignore the others. In the end, the essay was decently done and he graded it 14. If his student wanted to make a political statement, they were going to discuss it during lessons.

What Enjolras was not aware of was that although it was indeed a political statement, Grantaire had no intention to fight for a better world. He wasn't idealistic, he was simply bitterly realistic and down to earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is another chapter, I hope you enjoyed it!  
> First of all, marking criteria in France, for those of you who are not familiar with it. Grades go from 0 to 20. 19 and 20 are excellent, 16 to 18 is very good, 14 and 15 is good, 12 and 13 is satisfactory, 10 and 11 is sufficient; below 10: Fail!   
> Now, Bahorel: Bahorel is not stupid, he just has other things in his head. In the book, Hugo says he has been studying at the Faculty of Law for something like 10 years and that he does his best to stay as far as possible from the University. So I assume he is not eager to study, at least not what he is supposed to study. As for Feuilly, he has studied those topic three years before, I don't suppose he would remember the details, would he? And then Grantaire. Grantaire is brilliant, but he is irremediably sceptic and Enjolras has not figured it out yet.   
> And now… the usual final note!  
> This is some kind of a long note that will be copied under every single chapter that explains some choices I made. I have based most of my decision on the novel rather than the Musical or movie adaptation.  
> First thing first: Les Amis de l'ABC. In the book, they all have different ages, and for some of them the year of birth is unknown; due to logistic reasons in the FF, they all are the same age (18) except for Enjolras who is 24 and Feuilly who is 20. As for the political opinions and idea, it is impossible to keep faith to the novel while projecting the characters in the modern world and it would be wrong to just say they are leftist, although some of them are openly said to be leftists. In the book they have different political opinions and the only two things they all agree with are the abolition of the monarchy, voting rights for all (maybe not women) and improvement of the living and working condition. Plus, given the acronym they chose for their group, I’d assume they would want a more accessible education. Not all of those ideas can be used in a modern days setting (France is a Republic already and everyone can vote, women included), but I do think that in modern time they would be interested in what goes on in Europe and in the world and not only in France.  
> About Enjolras, I am not making him openly gay. From the novel, you can gather that he is too idealist to care about women and relationship so, for the sake of simplicity, I will just make him asexual. Also, in the book, he is some sort of detached person, not really a friend with the others (he calls them citizens and only when the barricade is about to fall he calls them brothers and friends) and that’s the reason why I put him as a teacher to separate him from the others.  
> With the other Amis, I am taking more liberties relationships- wise since Hugo doesn’t say much.  
> About Javert, it is controversial whether or not he should be considered a villain. In my personal opinion he is definitely the antagonist, but morally speaking he is a good man, therefore I put him as a good character, but trying to maintain the characteristic traits of his personality.


	4. Of candidates and arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go again! We have a bit of Les Amis talking Revolution! Or at least reform of the school system, which is something already. And a bit more of Enjolras interaction with Grantaire and the very same Enjolras arguing with an annoying colleague. And drama family news on the way, Javert is carrying it...

On Monday morning Enjolras walked into the classroom perfectly on time with his usual  _bonjour a tous_ . The class was rather empty, missing almost half of the students. “Don’t worry,” Combeferre told him, “they will all be here in a minute, it’s Monday”. Enjolras sat and filled the register, shooting a reproachful glare to everyone entering the room after him.

"So, I have taken a look at your essays and graded them," he finally announced, after Grantaire had made his theatrical entrance.

“Already?!” Bossuet exclaimed, not bothering to lift his hand.

“Yes, Monsieur Lesgle, already," Enjolras commented. “The regulation clearly says they have to be corrected as soon as possible and anyway within two weeks”. His knowledge of the rules was astonishing, but even more surprising was that he actually did follow them.

“Yeah, so it says, but no one really bothers with that...” Joly pouted, confirming Enjolras’ suspect about most of the rules he had diligently memorised.

“They should,” he said, immediately restraining himself from openly criticising his colleagues in front of the students. Not that he didn't want to, but it would have been most unprofessional of him to do such a thing. “But let’s get started now. The essays were generally well done, some were excellent, some were a bit imprecise, but you will be glad to hear that no one has received an insufficient grade,” Enjolras announced, happy to see the relief on his students’ faces.

“Nevertheless, do not celebrate just yet, because you need to work harder: not all the tests will be as easy as this one, and the finals will be harder," he continued in his well-prepared speech while walking through the class distributing the essays.

"Here it says 14, surely there is a mistake," he heard Grantaire saying seconds after receiving his paper.

“No mistake, Monsieur Grantaire,” replied Enjolras, sure the student was complaining. “If you want a better grade you will have to study harder”.

“You must have skipped some parts of my essay,” Grantaire insisted.

“No, I haven’t,” Enjolras reassured him. “Your open criticism about the current situation was unrequested and irrelevant in this context and therefore I didn’t take it into account”.

“And why is that?” the student inquired.

“Because you should save those inspiring speeches for the student's assembly," simply replied the teacher.

Grantaire laughed loudly and when he managed to catch his breath again he continued, “Why do you think I take any interest in such meetings?”. Enjolras stared at him, wondering what he was missing. He had been told Grantaire was a difficult student to handle and that his constant comments during classes were annoying, but he had not expected that level of stubbornness.

“I have no intent to take part in student’s manifestations or things like that. The system is fucked, and there is nothing that can be done about it. It has always been like that and it will always be like that". Grantaire had spoken without permission, had used a swearword and had shown an unexpected level of cynicism, the latter bothering Enjolras more than anything else. That was what he was missing. It was very much like Enjolras to take at heart the struggles of his Country, and of the entire word, for that matter, and if there was something he really could not stand was people giving up the fight for a better world.

“So you think that freedom, democracy, justice, gender equality and all the rights we have gained in the past 250 years are not worth fighting for?”. Triggering Enjolras always brought out his revolutionary-like side.

“There is nothing to fight for, Monsieur, or are you proposing to build a barricade and get ourselves killed? You know, the French Revolution has been over for a while now...” Grantaire teased, granting everyone else a few more minutes of comedy and drama.

“Of course that is not what I was suggesting!” Enjolras exclaimed, more to contradict his student than anything else, because a nice riot was not such a bad idea after all. “I was merely pointing out that all those rights we have did not fall in our lap, people fought for them!”. It was hard to tell if Enjolras was human. What kind of human being could maintain that kind of poise and dignity while arguing with an annoying student? Other teachers would have yelled at him, sent him out of the classroom and directly into the headmaster’s office, but not Enjolras. Enjolras had argued with him, speaking with a passion and conviction, standing in front of 28 hormonal adolescents and speaking about justice and freedom and equality the same way any other teacher would have spoken about the weather and making them keep still and silent - all of them, including Courfeyrac.

* * *

 

The following lessons with Enjolras developed on the false line of that Monday. Enjolras would say something, mention the Constitution or a set of laws and Grantaire would accuse him of not being able to tell the difference between the good intentions written in the Constitution and the cold, hard truth. He had even called the Constitution a dead piece of paper, and Enjolras has almost lost is poise at those words.

Besides that, the lessons were interesting, and for Combeferre to say it, that must have been true. Enjolras would introduce the topic for the day and give historical and legal context, leaving the students free to discuss their opinions. He hardly ever took sides, but it was written very clearly on his face what he thought. He respected every opinion and was always able to encourage the students to support with facts and data their ideas. There were signs of real interest from the students, and that was all that mattered to Enjolras.

* * *

“So, with student's election coming up I believe we should be doing something,” Marius broke the silence during lunch on a Tuesday morning, the last week of September. The idea had popped up in his mind during the weekend and he had texted Courfeyrac almost immediately.

“What’s your idea?” Combeferre prompted, sure he knew what was the direction that talk was going to take.

“A list, four or five candidates to run for the students’ representatives positions in the school board,” Marius explained.

“That’s only four places,” Joly pointed out, swallowing his food.

“Yeah, but there will be other students with other lists,” replied Courfeyrac, turning to Combeferre for confirmation.

“If we organize it properly we can aim at putting at least one of us in,” Combeferre clarified, confirming his best friend’s assumption.

“So you are running for a post, Ferre?” Eponine questioned. Combeferre shrugged: “I am thinking about it. Marius is,” he said, turning his attention to Marius.

"Does your grandfather agree with your idea, Marius?" half-joked Bossuet, exchanging meaningful looks with Joly and Musichetta.

“He doesn’t know yet,” Marius muttered, soon pressed by Bahorel. “So he will disagree, right?” enquired the perkiest of the group.

“He will for sure, but I don't care," he said, turning his attention to his lunch.

“Back to Combeferre, why do you want to do it?” Grantaire pursued the original topic of the conversation.

Combeferre seemed to think about it for a while, pondering his words. “Because there are so many things going wrong in this school and no one seems to care,” he finally answered.

“Jesus, Ferre, you sound like the marble man two weeks ago when he was saying how rights didn’t fall in our lap!”. Everyone laughed at his statement – Bossuet almost choking with water.

“Is that how you call Monsieur Enjolras?” Eponine questioned, trying to regain some restraint.

“And what else should I call him? I could try with Apollo, if you like it better,” Grantaire joked, undermining Eponine’s efforts to stop laughing.

“That’s not the point, R. I think he is right in a way...” Courfeyrac said after a few minutes.

“He is right,” Feuilly intervened, “but I think he has no idea of how these things really work”.

“So you agree with R that our society is hopeless and there is nothing worth fighting for?” Marius asked, unable to hide his surprise and disappointment.

Feuilly put down his fork, preparing himself for a speech he was not expecting the others to understand. “I don’t think it’s pointless to fight for our rights, I am just saying that Monsieur Enjolras seems to think that a manifestation – or a riot, or an insurrection, call it what you want – can change things on a large scale”. He left it there, waiting for the others’ reactions.

“And you don’t?” Eponine asked, breaking the silence.

“I have been on strike, real strike, the one that you don’t get paid and at the end of the month your salary is half of what it was supposed to be and you are fucked, and nothing changed,” Feuilly simply said. It wasn’t a reproach nor he seemed angry, but there was some deep sadness in his words, together with a hint of hope.

“But?” Combeferre urged him.

"But on a smaller scale, there is much that can be done!" Feuilly replied, hoping someone would understand what he meant.

Jehan, who had been silent most of the time, except the few times he had told Courfeyrac he really needed to stop plaiting his hair, spoke up. “What do you mean?”.

“You want a reform of the education system?” teased Feuilly, looking straight at Jehan.

“Of course we do!” he replied instantly, speaking for the entire group.

“You won’t get it,” Feuilly stated, immediately turning to Grantaire to anticipate his comment. “Quiet, R, I’m not done,” he shushed him.

“Go on, what do you propose?” Combeferre encouraged him to continue.

“Actually, you are doing it already. You become the students’ representative and you bring your ideas to the school board”.

"Okay? And?" asked Marius.

“Give me an example of what you want for the students and I’ll walk you through my idea” requested again Feuilly.

"Students must be granted the opportunity to receive extracurricular help – in the school and for free because not everyone can afford a private teacher," Marius said, picking the first thing that crossed his mind.

“Good. Maybe you can get the school board to activate some sort of project involving some teachers,” Feuilly started.

“Then we could spread the idea to other schools and other boards will approve it,” Joly said, understanding where his classmate was heading to.

"Yeah, but it will always take the goodwill of a few teachers, so where is the real change in that?" Bossuet criticised the reasoning.

"The real change is that when you will demand that the Parliament passes a law on the matter, the request will be supported by functioning examples and it will come to form a group of people who actually know what they are talking about".

“You mean like a syndicate of students proposing a law as it happens with the syndicates of workers, Feuilly?" asked Courfeyrac, feeling like he understood what the other two meant. Eponine joined the club of those who actually got the point of the reasoning: "So you are proposing to skip the part where we occupy the school?”.

“It makes complete sense,” Combeferre told, speaking more to himself than to his classmates. "Instead of thousands of students just protesting without any concrete plan, you create a delegation with a plan that has already been implemented in some schools and you ask that they simply turn it into law”.

The idea seemed to work perfectly, safe Grantaire ruining the enthusiastic atmosphere. “And they’ll just listen and then do as you like, won’t they?” he teased, underlining his rhetorical question with an eyebrow-raise.

“That’s unlikely,” Eponine gave in, “Sorry, Feuilly, the idea is great, but I don’t think it can work”.

“Not if only students request it, but if you bring in teachers, headmasters, even politicians who understand the purpose...” Marius tried to elaborate the legit doubts brought up by Eponine.

“Starting on a local base – maybe the County – it can work,” Combeferre agreed.

“Basically, think globally and act locally!” summarised Jehan, receiving a vigorous pat on the shoulder by Courfeyrac. “That might actually be the name of our list!”, he said enthusiastically.

“So you are in?” Marius tried to take advantage of his excitement, but Courfeyrac did not fall for it. “As a candidate? No way! I'm more of a PR if you know what I mean..." he hinted.

“Ferre?” Marius continued his chase to the perfect candidate.

“I am in. But we need to develop more than one good idea”. Marius nodded in agreement, mentally adding it up to the to-do list.

“You can’t do an all-male list, you need to bring in girls,” Joly addressed the problem that Combeferre had noticed too. “Right. Ep? Chetta?” he asked.

“I have enough troubles in my life as it is, Ferre,” Eponine replied. She hated to let down his friends, but she was in a delicate situation where she could not foresee the future. Her parents were out of jail, but it wasn’t likely to stay that way permanently. “I’d love to and I’ll support you as I can but I won’t be a candidate”.

Musichetta waited to Eponine to finish before talking. “I don’t know, guys,” she started. “I agree with what you said, but I have never been really into politics”.

Bossuet opened his mouth to say what had become his warhorse in the discussions with Musichetta and Joly. “That’s not really...” he started, interrupted before he could say  _politics_ .

“I know it’s not like run for President, but it will be absorbing and challenging and I’m not sure I have the abilities required to deal with it,” Musichetta said, bringing out her doubts.

“Just think about it, we have weeks before we even present the lists” Joly encouraged her, receiving a nod as an answer.

"So, for now, it's Ferre and Marius, maybe Chetta," summed up Courfeyrac, who had taken out a notebook and had started writing down names. “Feuilly?”

Feuilly’s jaw dropped a bit. “You must be joking! I have a job and I can hardly keep up as it is,” he reminded him. "As Eponine said, I'm glad to help where I can, but that's all".

“Jolllly, Bossuet, Bahorel, Jehan?” asked Combeferre.

“I can do the bodyguard when you become Prime Minister, Ferre, but not as a candidate. Do you really see me negotiating with the teachers or the headmaster?” ironically asked Bahorel.

“I think Bahorel has a point here,” Marius smiled fondly.

Jehan turned of an alarming shade of red, looked down at the floor and then at Courfeyrac, waiting for a sign of encouragement. “Don’t look at me, I barely speak up in front of you, I’m not the guy you are looking for,” he said. “But I can write your speeches, Marius, ‘cause honestly…” he left the sentence there, knowing Marius had understood what he meant.

“Putting on Bossuet would be a suicide mission,” joked Grantaire, “no offence, mate,” he added, grinning at his unlucky friend.

“Yeah, you know I love you, but just don’t,” Musichetta added, stamping a kiss on his boyfriend’s lips.

“I was about to say it myself,” Bossuet laughed. “Do you want the building to burn down on election day?” he asked, half joking and half worrying about that very possibility.

“Fair enough,” Combeferre commented, turning to look at Joly, who hadn’t yet answered. “Jolllly, are you in?”

“I might do it, I just want to think about it for a couple of days. You know that when I start something I don’t like to leave it uncompleted,” Joly answered, knowing his friends would understand.

“That’s alright! We have plenty of time to decide,” concluded Courfeyrac, who had been diligently taking notes about each of the Amis’ answers. “Meanwhile, all of us we need to try and find out who is in the other lists and who will be running for teachers’ representatives,” he instructed, acting professional and business-minded.

“Do you think Monsieur Enjolras will run for the seat?” Marius said, not really expecting a proper answer to his question.

“He certainly looks like he could do something like that,” Grantaire smirked. “We will find out soon enough!”

* * *

 

On a rainy and unusually cold Wednesday morning at the end of September, Javert knocked at the door with a heavy heart. He didn't particularly like Mademoiselle Thenardier – Eponine, if he remembered correctly – but bringing bad news to his students was definitely not his favourite thing to do. He had followed a case of armed robbery, a few years back, that involved the Thenardiers, and that was  both how he got to know the family and the reason why Eponine seemed to hate him that much. It was before he got the promotion to deputy headmaster when he was still practising law part-time, and working as a teacher the rest of the time. 

“Forgive my interruption, Monsieur Enjolras,” he said after a voice from the classroom had granted him permission to enter. “Could I borrow mademoiselle Thenardier for a minute?” he asked, waiting for Enjolras to agree. It was impressive how the students seemed to pay attention to the teacher. Normally, a young and attractive teacher – because Javert had eyes too – would struggle to keep order during lessons, but it seemed to come rather natural for Enjolras to handle a group of hormonal teenagers.

"Sure, you can go, Mademoiselle,” he addressed Eponine without smiling. He didn’t look too happy to be interrupted. Eponine left her desk heading without any sign of enthusiasm towards Javert. As soon as the vice headmaster had closed the door behind her, she asked the question that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for about two minutes.

“What have they done this time?” she asked, skipping the small talk and going directly to the point.

“Would you like to talk somewhere more private, Mademoiselle?” Javert proposed, signing with his hand the staircase that leads to his office.

“I don’t see the point, I already know what you want to tell me and it’s no secret that my parents are criminals, so you might as well tell me now so I can go back to my lesson,” Eponine declined in the most polite way she could manage.

“As you wish. Your parents have been arrested and they are currently held in custody,” Javert explained. “As far as I know, this time there are witnesses and they are going to be charged for armed robbery, assault and resistance to a public officer. There will probably be more charges connected with those firsts”.

“So how long will they stay in?” Eponine asked, a mixture of hope and fear in her expression.

"With their criminal record and considering that they shoot a cop, I'd say that your mother is looking at 3 years at least. Your father is also accused of running a criminal organisation so it will be longer for him”. Eponine kept silent for a second, the time to elaborate on what she had just heard.

“And how, pray say, do you know all this?”. Javert looked at the young lady standing in front of him, trying to recall when was the last time a student had dared to use that tone with him.

“As it happens, I was a lawyer – still am –, so I know what I am talking about. And I still have friends in the police department,” he explained simply.

“And they just told you like that, during a casual conversation, haven’t they?” she teased, decided to find out how exactly Javert was the first one to know and the one informing her.

“I may have asked someone to give me a head's up when some specific people were arrested," Javert hinted, knowing she would understand. "The point was to avoid police interrupting lessons to talk to my students," he added. Not that he needed to justify his actions, but he really wished for Eponine to understand that he wasn't looking into people's private lives for his own amusement.

Eponine nodded, her mind already focusing on the next step. “Formally, we are still staying at my aunt, so the social services shouldn’t create problems, right?” she asked. She didn’t want Javert’s help, but neither could she afford proper legal counselling.

“They won’t look into it since your parents have already lost custody of their children, but now that you are 18 you could ask for custody,” he suggested. “Although it would be hard to obtain it”.

“I’ll handle things as I have always done. I have friends to help me with that,” she said, not knowing why she felt the urge to reassure Monsieur Javert. “Now can I go back to my class?” she asked, turning to open the door without waiting for an answer.

Javert did not waste his breath in trying to convince her to seek help. The girl hated him, and although he hadn't done anything against her personally, he could still see why. God, that was why he had hated to be a lawyer.

* * *

 

“Bonjour” automatically said Javert throwing the envelope of his lunch in the trash-can. “If everyone is here we can begin,” he instructed, looking at his watch and back at his colleague. The first four weeks of school had gone and the time had come to sum them up with the other teachers.

“We are all here. Shall I record the session?” asked Madame Dubois, anticipating Javert’s request.

“As always, please,” he prompted her, before starting to dictate the introduction. “Today, 29th September 2017, the class council of Senior year gathers to discuss the agenda previously announced in the convocation of the assembly”.

Enjolras listened carefully to his colleagues stating how the class seemed improved compared to the previous year and how they seemed to care more about their academic results.

“Monsieur Enjolras, what is your impression?” Javert consulted him. Enjolras took out of his notebook a paper on which he had written down a few things to discuss with his colleagues.

"I have found a well-prepared class," he started, “Although they didn't finish the program in my subject last year. I will have to rush a bit in these first weeks,” he informed his colleagues.

“What about the conduct?” Javert prompted him again.

“The students are well behaved, except for Monsieur Grantaire, that keeps interrupting me with inappropriate comments. But nothing unmanageable,” he concluded. Grantaire was indeed annoying, and he had the duty to inform the other teachers about his behaviour, but there was no reason to dramatise what Enjolras considered just a little teasing.

“What about Monsieur Bahorel? Any troubles with him?” investigated Madame Dubois.

"I don't see anything alarming, but I have noticed that he tends to overreact. He had a disagreement with a classmate last week and he banged his fist on the wall just to underline his statement, and it's not the only time I have seen that happening. He doesn't seem to control his temper very well..." he hinted, hoping his colleagues would not interpret it as a reproach to the student.

“He has a temper, that has always been the case with him, but we must not forget Bahorel's past," Madame Dubois reminded the council, particularly looking at Javert. Enjolras' confused look caught Javert's eye and he immediately brought his younger colleague up to speed. "Monsieur Bahorel's older brother was killed in front of his eyes when he was in Junior Year. His behaviour was irreprehensible before, but it started worsening form that moment on".

Enjolras took a moment to process what he had just heard, before realising that not only he didn’t know about that, but that it seemed like no-one cared. “And what are we doing exactly to help him?” he enquired, struggling with hiding his disappointment.

“Nothing. We have advised him to talk to the school counsellor, but aside from that there is nothing we can do," explained Madame Williams, staring at Enjolras the way one stares at a mad man. Enjolras had the instinct to yell at his colleagues. How was it possible that teachers would admit without the faintest whiff of shame that they were doing nothing to help their students? What on Earth was wrong with the world?! Enjolras' thoughts were interrupted by Monsieur Grenouille – the one his students called The Frog, and Enjolras could clearly see why.

"Forgive me, but you justify everything. This looks more like a reformatory or a madhouse rather than a school; the so-called  _prepared students_ are mediocre, they do not study, except for Monsieur Combeferre, they are nothing less than delinquents!” he argued.

"Delinquents? How dare you!" Enjolras started, his reserve of patience quickly running out. Javert shot at him a reproachful look, but Enjolras had no intention to let The Frog get away with it.

“I do not know, Monsieur, if you have ever been in a reformatory, but I have done my internship in one and I can assure you, you have no idea what you are talking about!” he stated, not even bothering to hide his anger.

"Oh, God, here we go with the idealism," Monsieur Grenouille taunted. "We have what in this class? A student who damages the school's properties once a week, a series of misfit adolescents, a workman who looks like he has never even accidentally bumped into a book, and don't even let me start with the Thenardier Girl and Grantaire!". Enjolras was about to lose the little self-restraint he had managed to save, but Javert had gotten there before him.

"That is enough! You will do me the favour, Monsieur Grenouille, to keep your ideas for yourself. If you wish to denigrate the students I suggest you do so when I am not there to hear it!". At the sound Javert’s thunderous voice the entire room descended into a stunned silence. Javert angry – Enjolras noted for himself – was something he wasn’t eager to see ever again; and yet, he had the impression that that was only the beginning.

“Now,” the Head Teacher said, trying to regain his habitual poise, “we need to discuss Grantaire, that seems to be the most difficult case here”.

“He is an incredible artist and always attends my classes,” the art teacher – Madame LeRoux – said. “I don't know if you have seen his paints and draws...” she continued, pulling from her bag a folder. The drawings that were now sitting on the table were, in Enjolras’ opinion, incredibly beautiful. And mind that beautiful was not a word he often used. Most of them were landscapes, that is if you consider the school’s backyard a landscape, and buildings, but Enjolras noted a few portraits too and a number of caricatures of some of his classmates. Monsieur Grantaire was apparently very gifted.

“I'm afraid you are the only one to think he is a good student, Madame” Javert commented.

In spite of how annoying Enjolras considered Grantaire to be, he felt like it was unfair to define him a bad student.

“His entrance test was discrete, and I think he can do even better. And his art is honestly very appealing,” he cautiously stated.

“Finally, thank you, Monsieur Enjolras!”. Enjolras shyly smiled back at the art teacher, not wanting to expose himself too much after the argument with Monsieur Grenouille. “I know his drinking habits and his pessimism are irritating at times, but I think he has some potential and he is not even fully aware of it,” Madame LeRoux concluded.

That seemed to settle the matter, as almost everyone started to chat and Madame Dubois put down the pen she had used to record the meeting.

“Good,” Javert stood and started to collect his things, “that would be it, we will meet again in about a month and by then I would like all the students to have at least a grade in each subject,” he reminded to the group before leaving, followed by a series of _aurevoir_.

* * *

 

Enjolras left the classroom immediately after Javert. He was still irritated by The Frog and the discussion about the student’s behaviour. Furthermore, he had heard his colleague whisper  _prostitute_ – and a few other words that he didn’t even want to think about – referring to a student which he suspected to be Eponine Thenardier. Swearwords had never been Enjolras’ favourites, but the fact that a teacher had used them to define a student was simply outrageous.

There had to be a way – he thought – to put an end to Grenouille behaviour, or even better, to his career. But how do you deal with a colleague who is higher in grade and way more experienced than you are?

His thoughts were interrupted by Madame Dubois calling him. God, that woman was everywhere!

"How can I help you, Madame?" Enjolras asked, hoping it wasn’t anything about his sexuality.

“I wanted to ask you how are you finding it here, students aside,” she answered.

“It's good actually,” Enjolras commented. “Sure, there are things that might be improved, such as the coffee... But Madame Valjean had suggested me to bring my own from home!”. He mentioned the first thing that crossed his mind because the coffee was objectively terrible.

“What about the other teachers? I could sense a bit of tension between you and Grenouille today,” she teased. Enjolras had had the feeling she was going there.

“I disagree with his opinions and the way he expresses said opinions, but it seems to me that I am not the only one”. He was sure Madame Dubois disliked her colleague as much as he did, but he didn’t really feel like saying anything too compromising. Madame Dubois seemed satisfied with the answer and moved to the next point on her list.

“Have you noticed how Madame LeRoux was looking at you today?”. Enjolras understood what she wanted to talk about the moment she mentioned Madame LeRoux.

“I can't say I have," he replied, hoping against hope she would drop the topic.

“She is looking at you like someone who is interested in you. I assure you she doesn’t look at Javert the same way”. The image of Javert in a relationship crossed Enjolras' head for a second, and he realised he knew nothing about Vice Headmaster's private life. Not that he cared, but he now wondered if the man was married. Discussing it with Madame Dubois was certainly going to give him all the answers, but that just seemed like a very bad idea.

“Madame Dubois,” he replied instead, “Are you saying I am sentimentally involved with one of my colleagues? Because that would be most inappropriate!”.

Madame Dubois shook her head as to say  _of course not, why would I think such a thing_ with a very sarcastic tone. “Anyway, that is not what I wanted to discuss with you,” she said, suddenly becoming more serious. “ As I said before, I have noticed some hostility between Monsieur Grenouille and you during the teachers’ meeting”.

"I do not really like him," Enjolras openly admitted.

Madame Dubois reacted it the last way one would have expected. “Perfect!” she exclaimed joyfully. "You see, elections for the teachers' board are coming up in a couple of weeks and Grenouille is a candidate, as always". Oh, that is what she wanted to talk about!

“And?” Enjolras cautiously asked.

“And you are the perfect opponent! You are young, passionate about your job, intelligent and you care about your students!”. Now Madame Dubois was smiling – or grinning, Enjolras couldn’t tell.

“I am flattered that you think this about me, but honestly I think that you fit the description too. Furthermore, you have more experience, the respect of your colleagues and most of all Monsieur Javert talks highly of you!”. If he had followed his heart, Enjolras would have answered _I’ll do it_ right away, but he didn’t want to sound like he was too happy to jump at a colleague’s throat.

“Did you hear me saying “young” as the first point of my list? My dear, I am going to retire in 10 months – that is if I survive that long – and I most certainly do not have the energy to put up a fight against Grenouille,” Madame Dubois argued. Being called _dear_ sounded a little strange to the younger teacher, as no-one, not even his mother, had ever called him like that. But the French teacher did have a point there, and Enjolras was itching with the desire to put up a fight. There was only one last doubt he had.

“Do you think it is a good idea that I run against a senior member of the teaching staff only a month after my arrival?” he searched for a more experienced opinion.

"Think about it, Enjolras, about how important it would be for the students to have a teacher on the board that really cares for them! There has always been a problem with the fact that the students consider us as the enemy. And you could show them that it's not always the case, that there is someone that cares about their rights as much as they do, if not more”. She did not really answer the question, but why would she talk him into doing something that would put him in a difficult position if she didn’t think it was the right thing to do?

“Fine. I am in because the students need someone fighting by their side,” he finally gave in. Madame Dubois’ smile grew larger. “I told Fantine it would not take long to convince you, just need to push the right buttons!” she muttered to herself, loud enough for Enjolras to hear it.

“And what does Madame Valjean have to do with this now?”. But, by the time he had asked the question, the French teacher had turned around. Walking away, she had waved at him and shouted from the other side of the hall “Oh, nothing! Don’t mind too much what I say, I’m old, sometimes I talk nonsense…”.

What kind of trouble had he got himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, there will be more soon.  
> For all those who don't speak French, Grenouille means Frog and the name really suits the character, and you will see more of that in the story.  
> Anyway, Madame Dubois is evil, dragging Enjorlas into school board, and Fantine and Valjean have a part in it, just wait and see!


End file.
